


Small Fry

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Admiration, Crushes, F/F, F/M, Self-Insert, this is a self-insert for all you pretty ladies out there, we can all be self-indulgent in this one goddamit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12702156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You are the epitome of a small fry.It's been that way your whole life.No matter what people say, you ain't a small fry no more.





	1. Step One: Defrost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JayceCarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayceCarter/gifts).



> I like fries that are small. What can I say?
> 
> *Singing* Self-insert. Self-insert. Yeah, yeah, yeah! *Snaps fingers to the beat*
> 
> You get to be a fucking TEENAGE GIRL in this one. No one takes you serious, except me. Well, until you prove them otherwise. (Daddy jokes are probably gonna be a thing. Don't say I didn't warn you, hoe.)

There was a sickening crunch as green ichor and spindly legs twitched from underneath her boot. She grimaced and smashed it again under her heel. The monotonous action was seemingly repeated until she realized she'd been smashing the same insect for an indefinite amount of time.

Her calf was burning from the exertion. Her eyes were burning from tears. Her soul was burning from the realization things were never going to be the same.

_**Enough.** They would be disappointed._

Kicking the dead scientist's bones away from the control panel, she attached the Pipboy to her wrist. It blippped and beeped in acknowledgement as it sensed her vault suit. No injuries. No physical trauma from being on ice for...she'd figure it out. Off to a good start.

_You're defrosted and all geared up to go._

After a moment of fiddling she was able to attach the Pipboy wire to the panel and issue the door override. She watched in absolute awe as the gear shaped door groaned as it was unlocked. It slid to the side using pulleys and mechanisms she couldn't understand. Then, as soon as it had started to move, it stopped. The room when eerily quiet once more. Only echoes of the grinding and the occasional water droplet buzzed as white noise in the background.

_One step at a time._

Carefully, with feather like steps, she found herself in the lift. The crackly intercom busted to life with static that made her jump.

"Enjoy your return to the surface. And thank you for choosing Vault-Tec."

_Oh no._

She felt a surge of panic overwhelm her. A pressure in her chest made it hard to breath. She tried to rush out of the lift, but found that a metal fence had slid back in place. She tried to shake the rusted grate off it's hinges but it was too late. The floor began to move upwards, making her lose her balance. 

Panic faded to sickness and she doubled over. Vomit heaved it's way up her throat and onto the concrete platform. She tried to focus on willing herself to breathe but couldn't deny the sudden buzz and warmth above her.

She drew in a ragged breath as she stood up, the air no longer damp and cool. This air was dry, dirty, burning; like the smell of her father's cigarettes. All She could do was cover her eyes and adjust to the new light.

_A new world._


	2. Step Two: Onto The Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She and Mr. Dog find a man who needs their help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm glossing over a ton of stuff but this story isn't the actual tutorial word for word. I also decided I'm not giving "her" a real name because fuck names. It's you reading this, I know you wanna self-insert, and that's pretty coolio with me.
> 
> I like self-insert too *cough* Jayce *cough*

She had been relieved to find Codsworth flitting around her old home like he used to. As much as she had wanted to cling to him for dear life, since he seemed to be the only thing left, she couldn't. He'd pointed her in the direction of Concord. The promise of living, breathing, people had her moving.

_There were so many skeletons down there._

Shuddering, she continued to trek down the cracked, crumbly asphalt. There, just a few meters away. Red, large, faded, it captured the sun. She'd seen the red rocket so many times but this had to have been her favorite. Grinning, she dodged piles of rubbish and cars as she took off in a sprint.

**RED ROCKET**

She felt she could breathe again. Even though the sign was missing a few letters she could still feel the nostalgia waves crashing back.

"Ruff."

She squeaked and jumped back, pulling out her pistol on reflex. If shooting was the only lesson she'd remember from her father, then at least she'd stay alive.

"Ruff." The dog barked once more.

This time it gave a small whimper as if it knew her gun was a dangerous thing. Holstering the weapon, she held out a hand to the mutt. Well, it looked like a German Shepard, but she couldn't be sure anymore. "Hey puppy. What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

The dog gave a yip of delight and pressed it's face to the palm of her hand. She giggled as it's nose tickled her fingers from it's frantic sniffing. "You seem like an okay dog."

It yipped again and nearly tackled her in delight. "Ouch, h-hey," She squeaked as the mutt lapped eagerly at her jaw. She glanced down momentarily and laughed, pushing him off. "Okay so...you're definitely a boy. Let's stick together...I guess?"

Mr. Dog yipped once more and began to lead her down the beaten path ahead.

_Dogs are so weird._

* * * *

The pops of gunfire made her freeze against the wall. There was no way that man hadn't seen her. Her Pipboy had labeled him a raider...whatever that was. Red is enemy it read.

_Red is dead, remember?_

She bit her lip and tried to still her breathing. The grip of the pistol bit into her palm. No. She didn't... _she couldn't_... _ **she wouldn't**_.

"There's someone behind us!"

She gasped and clutched Mr. Dog. Every part of her screamed to run or fight. Adrenaline surged through her and she decided to make a break for it. Mr. Dog seemed to sense her motive and trotted around the corner away from gunfire. Before she could catch up, pain shot through her scalp.

"There you are!" A man growled, his fingers were caught up in her hair. "Lil' bitch like you will make a perfect slave."

She wanted to scream or cry but could only gasp out through her tears. She felt his hands around her neck and heard a "snap". She wondered if he'd broken it and that was the end of her. Just as suddenly as his hands had roped her in, they left her. She felt something hot and sticky dripping down her back.

Whirling around she caught Mr. Dog, snarling, growling, mad. His teeth were digging into the man's throat, blood bubbling out of the wound and into his fur. After a few moments of twitching, the man went limp. The wet gurgling noise in his throat went silent as well.

_He's dead._

She wanted to feel something. Anything. She truly did. Only hollow emptiness greeted her.

_Am I a monster?_

She swallowed hard, her throat felt like it was on fire. That raider, he'd put something around her neck! It dug in and bruised the skin around her collar. Tears of frustration dripped down her dirty face.

_How am I going to get this off?!_

A bullet whizzed by and blistered the wooden wall next to her. She looked up to see another man running at her, preparing to strike. His eyes were bloodshot and the rusted tire iron he held tried to come down on her belly. Due to her small stature she easily dodged the blow but was left in shock when he turned to a pile of red ash right before her eyes.

The tire iron clattered to the ground next to her and the wind swept the ash away. She gulped, grabbing the metal bar in her hands. Air finally filled her lungs and she let out a traumatized screech, drawing the attention of a retreating raider. He seemed to consider her for a moment under the sack he wore over his head.

Fear made her scramble to her feet. She was still gripping the tire iron with a vice grip. The sack-headed raider sprinted towards her at full speed, the glint of a blade peeking out of his fingers. She knew if she didn't act fast that sharpness would be in her guts.

Going blank, time seemed to slow. A percentage overlay flashed over her vision, targeting the raider's sacked head. Ninety-five percent it read. Not bad.

_Let your instincts guide you._

She adjusted her stance, legs planted apart, weight grounded. She gripped the tire iron like the baseball bat she'd had in second grade. One more second. She was close enough. One hundred percent the Pipboy read.

She reeled the iron bar back as his blade swung forward. Then, her muscle memory did the work. Years and years of little league and backyard practice with her dad guided the iron directly into the raider's jaw. She watched in sickening slow motion as the impact tore away skin, flesh, bone, and blood. The man slipped backwards and fell, hitting the ground hard. He laid there, unmoving.

_You killed him._

The words echoed in her mind, and even though she knew she should have felt upset, she couldn't. Dropping the tire iron, she stepped gingerly over the dead bodies. A few feet away was a box full of stimpacks and chems that she guessed belonged to them. After the items has been stashed away into her pockets she heard another shout. This time it didn't seem threatening.

"Hey, you!" He screamed from a terrace up in the old museum. Even from the distance she could see his visible panic underneath his colonial hat. She gulped and dashed over, wary but more trusting of the urgency in his voice. "I've got a group of settlers inside! The Raiders are almost through the door! Grab that Laser Musket and help us! Please!"

She noticed that the red rifle he had matched the one on the floor. A couple yellow batteries lay strewn about in another pile of red ash.

_Do these guns turn people into ash?_

She found that she really didn't want to know. Whistling to Mr. Dog, who who happened to be checking the area for any additional threats, she cracked the door open.


	3. Step Three: Into The Oven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her Dog has a weird name and suddenly weird men are cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jayce I truly see the error of my ways. Sturges is a sweet bean. He deserves admiration of the highest degree ;3

The creepy mannequins kept her on edge. She felt like a raider was going to pop out at any second and gut her. The sounds of gunfire up ahead told her she was headed for that kind of trouble.

Cranking up two rounds in the barrel of her laser musket, she rounded the corner. Going emotionally blank, the overlay popped up once more. Being as sneaky as possible she was able to get a sneak critical shot on each of the preoccupied male raiders.

After looting the room of valuables, she noticed an old Nuka-Cola machine sitting in the corner. Smacking her lips, she guzzled down the warm bottle of soda that had been sitting inside it. Feeling better, she turned around and dropped the empty glass. It shattered into countless pieces on the splintered wood floor.

The man looked down at her, the shotgun pointed right between her eyes. She gasped and tried to step back but he followed her movements. Why wasn't he shooting her? Her Pipboy had him labeled as red.

_Doesn't he want me dead?_

"Hm." He growled, bloodshot blue eyes scanning her over. If she didn't know any better his hair was blonde but caked in filth. "Damn."

He took one glance at her collar and shrunk back. His red dot immediately switched to yellow. 

_Yellow is mellow, remember?_

He kept his shotgun trained on her but began to back up around the corner. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, there was the familiar cracking of a laser musket.

The raider's eyes widened as the bolt of energy hit him at a shocking speed. She looked directly into his dilated blue pupils in his last moment of life. The Pipboy marker turned green.

Then he turned to ash.

* * * *

Mr. Dog gave out a long, panicked whimper, lapping at her tears. Her legs gave out from underneath her, forcing the side of her face to press against the door. Blood roared in her ears and dripped from the deep knife wound in her thigh.

"Let me in, please!" She cried out weakly, not knowing what what to do.

A crippled, female raider had tried to ambush her only a minute ago. The blade had punctured into the soft flesh of her inner leg. She needed medical attention.

"Please...my leg..." She hiccuped.

There was quiet mumbling behind the door. Part of her wondered if the people inside were planning on leaving her to rot. She couldn't blame them.

_It's a people kill people kind of world._

The next thing she knew, she was sprawled out on the floor. A laser musket crackled overhead as two pairs of boots obscured her vision. Large, strong hands grasped at the back of her vault suit. They curled into the fabric as they drug her a few feet forward.

"Goddammit Dogmeat," Someone familiar grumbled, "Get yer ass in here!"

 Puppy paws padded against the floor behind her. The door nudged her toes as it was slammed shut and the lock clicked. She groaned, attempting to sit up, but could only stay prone. Her stomach flipped and threatened to spill Nuka-Cola onto someone's boots. She clamped her mouth shut and tried to regulate her breathing.

"Now, look who Dogmeat brought to us." A woman murmured, her voice airy and seemingly faraway. "He chooses his friends and sticks with 'em. He sees something in 'er. I _saw_ it, Preston."

"Not now Mama Murphy," Preston sighed. She recognized his voice from the balcony. "She's wounded. And we're going to need all the help we can get to get out of this alive."

She felt a warm hand try to weasel it's way into her pocket. Dogmeat, which she deduced was the mutt's real name, rumbled a threat at the offender. She squirmed as her laser rifle was unstrapped from her back.

"Woah! Hey now," That same, easy voice, drawled. "I just need to use this stimpack on yer leg if we're gonna get anywhere. Alright, kid?"

Anger coiled deep down in her psyche, aching in her muscles. How dare he? How _**dare**_ he call her a kid? She wasn't a child anymore. All that bullshit died when those bombs dropped. She wanted to smack him, put her laser musket to his forehead and pull the trigger.

_I want this asshole dead._

With newfound strength, she jolted upright, pulling herself into a sitting position. Fresh blood oozed from the hole in her thigh and dripped down her leg. Mewling in discomfort, she was able to fish a stimpack out of her pocket. As soon as the fluid was injected into her blood stream, she panted with relief. The skin knit back together at an alarming rate but left a dull throb behind.

"Don't call me a kid." She glowered, finally managing to look up. 

The first set of boots belonged to Preston. His coat and colonial hat looked strange, but it seemed to pair well with his kind brown eyes. The laser musket in his hands gave off a faint red glow. A long, faded scar ran down the left side of his temple and down to his chin. He seemed nice...in a weathered sort of way.

"Fine," That voice snorted. She swiveled her head to the side, just in time to get a needle full of Med-X in her arm. Glancing up from the hand administering the drug, she finally got to see who the second set of boots belonged to. Warmth blossomed in her throat and made it hard for her to swallow. As much as she wanted to blame the painkillers pumping through her veins...she couldn't.

_He looks like...he sounds like... **wow**...._

"Are you James Dean?" She blinked, trying to wash the familiarity out of her eyes. That lax smile, those blue eyes, luscious hair; she had to be dead.

The man gave out a snicker of approval, placing the used syringe on a nearby terminal desk. "Hehe nah, I ain't James Dean."

"Mah name is Sturges," He offered her a hand, pulling her up from the floor. Looks like the muscles weren't just for show either. "Nice to meetcha, Toots."

_I haven't heard that nickname in a while._

She shook his hand and pulled away as Preston approached her.

"Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing's impeccable. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen." He smiled, shaking her hand with his gloved one. "We're trapped in here. We thought Concord would be a safe place to settle. Those raiders proved us wrong. But...we do have one idea."

"What's that?"

Preston cocked his head towards the computer terminal and the man sitting against it.

"Sturges. Tell her.


	4. Step Four: Turn Up The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcy ain't having none of your shit, my dude.

"So let me get this straight," She grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut in irritation. "You want me to put this big battery in the metal suit so I can shoot things?"

Sturges chuckled and nodded with a look of amusement. "Yeah, just do the ole 'spray and pray' and those raiders are begging for an express ticket to hell. Ya dig?"

Preston seemed unsure of the whole plan, his eyes searched around the room for something else.

"And what makes you think a kid can use a suit of power armor?!"

The angry, piercing voice made her jump slightly. It came from the woman heatedly pacing the room. Her hair was black, and she was in a raggedy set of clothes. "Look at how short she is! There's no way she could even get in it, Sturges. You of all people should know that!"

"Look, Marcy." Sturges sighed, leaning back against the terminal desk. "You and I both know none of u-"

" ** _No_**. Absolutely _not_." She growled. "I'm not trusting mine or my husband's life to some ten-year-old brat!"

_Oh, she did not just say ...._

She crossed the room and entered a heated standoff with Marcy. "I'm eighteen, lady. I can hold my **_fucking_** own."

Marcy gave her a bitter laugh, snatching the fusion core from her hands. She tried to grab it back, but Marcy was able to hold it just out of her reach. "Of course you can, Pipsqueak. Get a few inches taller, then we'll talk."

Walking towards the door to the roof, the man that had been cowering in the corner suddenly spoke up. "M-marcy, no. Please d-d-don't go." He sputtered through tears.

"It's too late for that, Jun." She grumbled, opening the door. "I'm tired of watching kids die."

* * * *

 

"She needs my help, Preston." She grumbled, standing away from the ledge. Beneath the balcony was close to a dozen raiders surrounding Marcy. They took potshots that were chipping away at her armor. Even though she was mowing them down with her mini-gun, there were still too many for her to fight off alone. "I have to go down there!"

Preston hissed as he reloaded his laser musket. "No, you need to stay here." He yelled, lining up another shot. "You'll die down there."

As she was about to argue, she noticed a woman wielding a machete charge towards Marcy. She screamed, trying to warn the older woman about the attacker, but watched in vain as the large knife cleaved into the shoulder joint of the power armor.

She took off, her feet running on instinct. She didn't realize what she was doing until she was nearly out the front door of the museum. Dogmeat was hot on her heels and Sturges let out a string of curses from from somewhere in the distance.

She kicked open the door, stumbled over the corpse of the machete raider, and found Marcy. The gunfire had ceased and she didn't care why. Marcy was groaning, bracing herself against a wall. Her armor looked like it was about to flake off into a couple different pieces. The mini-gun was discarded nearby, smoking and the barrels glowing red.

"What are you doing?" Marcy hissed, turning to glare at her. "Are you trying to get yourself ki-"

There was a deep rumble and an earth shaking roar from not too far off. Marcy's eyes widened at a sudden realization and glanced down in fear.

"Give me all the Buffout and Psycho you have. Now!"

She funneled the Buffout into Marcy's mouth with shaking fingers before stabbing her with a needle of Psycho. Marcy let out a scream of unbridled aggression just as a hulking creature bounded from around the corner. The beast looked like a mix of her dead friend's pet chameleon, a crocodile, and a velociraptor. Malice seemed to roll of it's muscles like Satan had smacked it and permitted it to drag a few people down to hell for him. She gasped, targeting the creature with her V.A.T.S. in a vain attempt to recognize it.

_A "Deathclaw"?_

She opened her mouth to scream in fear but the sound of Marcy 's mini-gun overshadowed the noise. A few rounds pierced through the Deathclaw as it locked onto the armored woman. From above, in the balcony, Preston was able to char it's hide with a couple well placed energy shots.

Pulling out her pistol, she willed herself into V.A.T.S. once more. She aimed at the beast's vital areas such as nose and eyes. It flinched and charged ahead. Marcy was able to leave a few nasty lacerations on it's belly before it sent her flying. She collided into an already smoking car, which threatened to burst.

Screaming, she and Dogmeat retreated into an old storefront, just in time to narrowly avoid a large set of teeth. The Deathclaw tried to edge it's head in through the doorway but could only manage to claw up the inside floor. Scared, and unconfident that the Deathclaw couldn't weasel it's way into the shop, she scrambled up the steps to the second story. She leaned against an embedded bookshelf, pulling out her laser musket this time.

The building shook violently causing her to grasp Dogmeat tighter. "Watch out!" Preston shouted as the wall facing the street was swiped away. The floor buckled and swayed as a set of claws began to dig into wood. As the floor titled wildly, she tied Dogmeat's midsection to hers using a rope. The dog nearly slid down the incline and straight into the jaws of the waiting Deathclaw. The beast watched as she held them both up using her strength.

The creature's eyes paralyzed her with fear. Her fingers felt like they were slipping from the wood, even though she was getting splinters from her grip. All she could do was shake violently as it's gaze crawled its way down into her very core. Her muscles relaxed as the creatures mesmerizing eyes quietly urged her to release her hold. It was waiting for her slip, to fail, so it chomp down on her supple flesh and bones.

_This is a predator at it's finest._

Just as her left hand slipped, a machete perforated the side of the Deathclaw's neck. It wasn't enough to kill it, but stagger the beast. Preston got off a few lucky shots. one hitting it's eye and turning it to ash. The monster let out a guttural cry of pain, trying to right itself. Marcy clamped her armored hands around the machete handle, but didn't have enough strength to pull it down. The Deathclaw reared back and prepared to crush Marcy underneath it's upper body.

_Jet._

She took a deep huff of the red canister and time slowed drastically. Without a moment to waste, she severed the twine holding Dogmeat close. Then, bounding across the warped floor she jumped straight onto the back of the oversized reptile. Time seemed to go back to normal as she wrapped her body around Marcy's arms and the added weight helped slit it's throat.

Dark red, viscous fluid sprayed out and all over them both. She could taste it in her nose and feel it soaking into her pores. Blood.

Marcy was able swing them away as the Deathclaw crumpled onto the still steaming car. The added weight was too much, and it exploded. Marcy wrapped her arms around the teenage girl, shielding her from the chunks of viscera and shrapnel that rained down upon them both. When all was quiet, both heroines glanced around.

 Dogmeat yipped, chewing happily on his new Deathclaw horn.


	5. Step Five: Take Them Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is almost as nice as she remembers.

The trek to Sanctuary was a slow, uneventful one.

Marcy collapsed onto the pavement the moment she stepped out of her power armor. Unsurprisingly, Jun was on her at once, checking her vitals and pumping her full of stimpacks. Despite suffering from mild chem withdrawal and severe bruising, she was still pretty feisty. "Leave me alone, Jun. Can't you see I'm perfectly fine!"

"Y-you're not o-o-okay." He sniffed. "You c-can't even stand u-u-up."

Marcy looked like she was about to cuss out her husband when Codsworth greeted them happily. "Why, hello there.  It's been so long since we've had visitors. Could I interest you in some refreshments?"

The confuzzled expressions on the couple's faces made her giggle, patting her Mr. Handy friend softly. "Maybe later, Codsy. Let's get comfortable first."

"Oh yes. You are quite right, Missus." The bot whirred happily, clicking his metal appendages together in some sort of joyful clap. "I'll get together the bedding for our new guests. Oh, and I almost forgot! This is for you."

The Mr. Handy released a holo-tape from his storage compartment and placed it tenderly in her palm. "I believe your father was going to present it to you. As a surprise. But then, well...everything happened."

_Happy Birthday Small Fry!_

She looked down at the small tape and faded letters. It was her father's messy scrawl no doubt. What could possibly be on this tape? As much as she wanted to know, she felt exposed. A dozen eyes felt glued to her, waiting for her to break and swallow up her weakness.

"Thanks for holding onto this, Codsworth. I appreciate it."

"It was no problem at all, Missus." The robot hummed. "Now, I must go fluff the pillows! It's getting awfully dark and it would be terribly rude to leave our new guests out on the street."

With that, the bot bobbed into the house, murmuring quietly about being able to use their fine china collection.

* * * *

Mama Murphy snored contently from her bedroll next to the cooking fire. Dogmeat yawned next to her, keeping watch over the old woman. Somewhere off in the distance, Preston was on watch duty, pacing back and forth in front of the entrance bridge. In her fathe-no...parents' room, Marcy and Jun had taken up residence. After all, her small bed wouldn't be big enough for two grown adults.

Not interested in seeing what remained of her room, she sat on a kitchen barstool, watching Sturges tinker with a hotplate. He looked up momentarily before continuing with his modifications.

"Codsworth sure has kept this place _real_ nice." He whistled, stripping a few wires. " I guess Mama Murphy's sight did right by us again. This place is a bonafide _sanc-tu-ary_."

His observation wasn't wrong. While every other house on the block was a dilapidated mess, her (and her family's) house was very well maintained. Debris had been stripped away, the holes patched, counters were clean, and a good majority of their personal belongings were still in working order. Yes, rust and grime still found their way into the cracks and crevices, but it was better than the alternative of a caved in roof.

"Yeah," She chuckled, feeling her father's holo-tape burning a hole in her pocket. "My old man must've set his cleanliness levels to stunningly."

Sturges paused at her bittersweet comment, and gulped when she fished the tape out of her vault-suit. It was obvious he wanted to say something but he kept his mouth shut. She looked up at him as if to edge him back into conversation. He remained silent, focusing back on his hotplate.

With a deep sigh she popped the tape into her pip-boy. It fizzled for a moment before crackling out the 200+ year old message.

 

_"Dammit Shaun. No, no, no. Little fingers away. There we go. Right there. Ah...got it! Ha ha! Hey, Small Fry! Listen..._

_I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how much we appreciate you sticking around... but we're going to anyway. After everything that's happened, you decided we're more important to you than the gift your mother left you. Haha. You're such a damn rebel. A rebel without a cause, she used to say._

_Look, we both know... It's been a really rough year. There will be more changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to. I'm going to rejoin the civilian workforce, and it's up to you what you want to do next. Ya know, Coach Lassider said you've got a winning pitch. Maybe that slugger and technique of yours can get you into Fenway Park?_

_But no matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets... we stick together. We're a family, remember?_

_Your mother would be proud of you._

_Happy eighteenth birthday, Small Fry."_

 

 

There was the soft cooing of a familiar baby in the background before the tape cut off. She sat there, unmoving, even as her pip-boy spit the tape out. First her mother, then her father, and finally her little brother. They were all taken away from her with cruel injustice. Her mother, in childbirth, having bled out from trauma. Her father, trying to protect his children, with a bullet in his head. And baby Shaun, whisked away, perhaps to a place where white scrubs still existed.

_Maybe he's still alive?!_

The thought made her heart lurch. 

At least she had something to hope for.

A small mug was placed before her, drawing her back to reality. Inside the dingy cup was a light blue colored mixture with bits of leaves on the bottom. Sturges gave her a soft look, motioning for her to drink it. Sitting next to him was a perfectly working hotplate with an old steaming kettle on top.

_He really is a damn fine handyman..._

"I know trust is hard to come by these days," He mumbled, pouring himself a mug of the drink. It gave off a spicy scent that warmed her to the core. "I promise it's just hubflower tea. Hopefully, this'll help us get some shut eye."

Even though the mixture was warm, she gulped it down with fervor. The rough texture of the leaves on her tongue was the only remainder of the blue tea. A sweet, masculine chuckle made her glance up sheepishly. He pulled his mug from his lips and motioned to the kettle.

"There's more where that came from, that is, if yer still thirsty. "

She felt her cheeks heat up and she shook her head. Even though Sturges hadn't done anything to put her on edge, the kindness he'd expressed made her wary. In a place like the wasteland, with raiders and death, was there still room for pure kindness? She wanted to believe so...but...her father's words echoed in her mind.

_Everybody wants something from you._

What could Sturges possibly want?

"Ya' said yer not from here. With the way you're dressed I'm gonna guess yer from a vault, right?" He mused, lighting a cigarette. The smoke eased an ache she didn't realize she had. It reminded her of home. "Can't say I've met one of you guys before. What kind of experiment they run on ya'? From what I heard that Vault-Tec company was a load a shit."

She looked down at the floor, finding herself unable to speak. How was she going to tell him? He turned around, looking away, shoulders slumped. 

"Uh, I'm sorry. Shouldn'tve asked. None of my business."

She mumbled his name and he glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes met his and she took a leap of faith.

_I'm going to trust him._

 

"I was alive before the bombs dropped..."

 

* * * *

 

Sturges leaned up against the door frame, watching as she sunk to the floor in the middle of her room. She'd asked him to accompany her since she was too chicken shit to go in herself. The place was dusty and dingy but everything was where she'd left it. The lantern illuminated the small bed, small desk, and small couch. Every little thing was tiny, a miniature, compared to the rest of the house.

That had been her little, suffocating, life.

She realized she hated it.

**Be this. Do that. Go here. Don't argue. You're a child. A baby. An immature little whelp of a responsibility to your parents.**

"I remember my father loved taking me out to play ball games. When he'd get back from where he was stationed we'd run off. We'd always come back filthy as all get-out." She reached underneath her bed to reveal an old wooden bat. Etched into the wood were deep letters spitting 'Rattlesnake'. Tied around the handle was a perfectly white something, with blue roses dotting the hem. "He got this for me when I was in second grade. We named it after some dumb slang."

Sturges snorted. "C'mon Snake, let's rattle?"

"That's it! That's the slang." She squeaked, untying the white fabric from the handle. "How do you know that?"

He clicked his tongue and seemed to ponder back through his memories. "Met a guy once. He talked with ol' style 'lingo. He always had a leather jacket and handful o' snake puns."

"He sounds like my kinda' guy." She finished untying the...dress? It was a dress. Small, white, and very thin; but a dress no less.

"What's that?" He asked, raising a brow to the garment. She shook her head and he realized where it'd come from. If the bat was from her father, the dress had to be from her...damn. "Sorry. I really should stop sticking 'mah nose in 'yer business."

"It's alright."

She stood up and walked out of her room, bat and dress in tow.

 

She didn't even pause to look back at what remained of her old life.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This was a long one. Sorry it took so long for so little. I didn't like the direction this story was going so I scrapped a couple chapters.
> 
> And yeah yeah. I know. In the game Codsworth tried to take care of the house and it didn't work out too well. Okay, well, hear me out. He's a goddamn Mr. Fucking Handy that had 200+ years to take care of the fucking house. Don't tell me he couldn't patch a single hole in the wall or take care of his masters' things. That's literally what he's programmed to do. I don't know. Fucking sue me.


	6. Chapter Six: Give 'em Some Flavor

 

 

Dogmeat smelled like wet dog.

 

He weaved in and out of the small stream behind Sanctuary. The dried blood and filth that caked into his fur had been swept away. At least he only smelt like wet puppy. She could smell Trashcan Carla and her brahmin all the way from the bridge.

The water was cold against her thighs. It was a welcome feeling. At least all of her senses were working properly.

She sunk down into the stream a little more, the running water reaching her navel. She shuddered, feeling her body heat being leeched out of her. Maybe trying to clean herself in her mother's dress was a bad idea? The cotton did little to preserve warmth, but made it easier to clean.

She'd snagged an old rag off of Codsworth. Apparently he'd used up all the soap in the surrounding neighborhood, trying to keep their house clean. With a sigh, she began to scrub the dirt and blood from her pores.

Cleaning in the stream was a new experience. Yeah, as a kid she'd strip down and splash around with the neighborhood kids, before she knew what modesty was. She'd aggressively skip stones when her mother got under her skin. She'd never bathed in it though.

Running the rag up along her calves, she stopped at her thighs. She felt a small tingle when her fingertips brushed the juncture of her hips. Shaking her head, she went back to cleaning herself.

That was, until Dogmeat decided to tackle her.

She gasped before her head went under. Her upper back connected with dozens of sharp riverbed rocks. Water rushed over her eyes and filled her ears. With adrenaline, she pulled herself upright, and gulped for air. Dogmeat was wagging his tail and looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, shit. You alright toots?" A familiar voice drawled with amusement. She was too dazed to recognize him at first, but after a minute, his eyes registered in her head.

"Yeah," She sputtered, wiping the water from her face. "Just swallowed the wrong way, I guess."

Carefully, he helped pull her out of the stream. He'd brought a basket of towels that needed to be washed, and had her sit on the cleanest one. It was by no means soft but she was surprised at how rough the river rocks had actually been.

"Thanks Sturges," She breathed, continuing to watch the water swirl. "Do you have any soap?"

"Mhmm, got some from Carla." He admitted, tossing a bar in her direction. She caught it easily and began to scrub a lather into her washcloth.

It had been a couple weeks since they'd arrived in Sanctuary. It had taken some time but they got it up and running. Water, crops, and good defenses had drifters and settlers wandering in. They had gone from her small house, to three full of people needing a safe place.

She knew she shouldn't have been playing farmer, trying to build a fake home, all while she should be looking for her brother. Even though she knew that, she knew she needed to work at the place. She needed to make it better. Where would Shaun go once she found him?

 

Sanctuary was their home.

 

Even if she didn't want to admit it.

 

"You alright?" Sturges smiled, eyes still on the towels in his hands. "You seem to be thinkin' awfully hard over there."

"Yeah," She blushed. She tried to distract her fingers by shampooing her hair with the suds bar. "Just...thinking about a lot."

There was a small pause.

"Like what?"

She didn't know what to say. The handyman was always curious about the things he didn't understand. Sometimes she wondered if he thought people were machines for him to work on too.

She gave a hearty sigh.

"I'm...thankful. You and everyone else has been so good to me these last few weeks."

Sturges smiled as he dunked another towel.

"And...thanks for being a good friend. It's nice having someone watch my back, ya know?"

"I one hundred percent agree." He nodded.

Dogmeat ran off to chase a radroach somewhere in the distance. He would be back eventually. As time went on a comfortable silence passed over them. Neither needed to speak, just relax and clean.

Sturges broke the silence first.

"I, uh, appreciate ya' helpin' us out. Marcy could've died if ya' hadn't stepped in with that Deathclaw. I...I'm tired of watching people die. It was nice to see someone standing up for a change."

"It wasn't a big deal." She grumbled, picking the dirt from underneath her nails. "Don't tell Marcy...but she kinda reminds me of my mean old aunt, Cha-Cha. I kinda miss her.

 

 

"Yeah, you only miss 'em once they're gone."

 

More quiet silence ensued.

 

"I know it's none of my business to be sticking my nose where it doesn't belong..."

 

"Shoot, Toots."

 

"Is love still a thing out here? Or did it die? Kinda like personal hygiene did with raiders."

 

Sturges let out a dry laugh and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He motioned to her old house and the window of Marcy and Jun's new room. "The closest thing to love I've seen is probably those two. Yeah, it don't seem too healthy, but they don't ever leave each other. Should count for something. Why you ask?"

He watched as she sucked in a deep breath and waded out into the stream. Her eyes were wide and glossy with tears but she hoped he couldn't tell. "I'm not gonna lie I'm a little relieved."

"Why?"

"Back then, I was expected to wear dresses, please a husband, and pop out a dozen babies. Even if that's not what I wanted...I didn't have much of a choice." She whispered, eyes trained on the horizon of trees Dogmeat disappeared in. "That's probably why my mom hated me."

He scoffed. "I ain't heard of any mother hatin' their baby."

"Okay! Maybe she didn't hate me." She snorted, dunking her hair. "But she wanted me to marry a boy of her choosing. She wanted me to wear bows and skirts and dresses so she could show me off at church. She wanted a doll. She didn't want what I was turning into. She wanted a daughter like Susie from down the street."

Sturges raised and eyebrow and lit his cigarette. When he spoke, heady smoke spilled from his lips. "I don't see anything wrong with you. What was she afraid of?"

She began to wring away water from her scalp. "She was afraid I was going to get myself hurt."

He raised another, still confused eyebrow.

"Basically, I was a weird girl. I liked to play poker with my dad and his buddies. I liked to roughhouse with the boys from the block. I liked to wear shorts and sneakers and throw mud at Barbara Ann just to watch her cry. I liked going to the stadium..."

"Ya' know you can still do all that stuff, right? Play poker, hang out with your friends, and the 'stadium' is called Diamond City now."

"Is this what you tell ladies?" She chuckled, rolling her eyes. As much as she wanted to believe him, she really couldn't.

Sturges sputtered and choked on the smoke of his freshly lit cigarette. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were suddenly blushed. "I...uh...well...not many girls are interested in an old repairman like me."

 

Wait.

 

Did he not get her sarcasm? Did he really think she was starting to flirt with him?

 

She hadn't taken the time to think, but damn, he _**was**_ pretty hot.

 

Like, _really_ fucking hot.

 

James Dean had nothing on the Commonwealth's hugest mechanical nerd. Large was the best word to describe him. Large chest, large hair, large eyes, and outrageously skilled large hands. Her mind wandered down below the small pudge of his belly but couldn't allow herself to think of much more. She shouldn't get excited thinking about the handyman. She shouldn't, yet the smell of sweat, sweet grease, and hair gel made her belly warm. 

 

_You're a dumb teenager. He's not interested in you._

 

"You can't be that old. You're like, what? Thirty tops?" She scoffed, scratching the dirt from behind her ears.

"Twenty-eight."

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Unused muscles in her belly fluttered. Why was her body reacting to such trivial information?

_He's ten years my senior. What the fuck am I doing?_

"You're twenty-eight. That's still pretty young."

He frowned, glancing away. "Out here, I'm pretty damn old. Most people don't tend to live past thirty, unless they've got something going for them. Us regular people, settlers and the like, we got hard lives. It gets harder and harder every damned day."

She nodded, at least somewhat understanding his words. Underneath those baby blues she could tell he wasn't hiding the whole truth from her. He seemed too open for it to be sinister in nature, but she couldn't be sure anymore.

"Hmm," She hummed. "I didn't have much of a choice but I guess my hat's been thrown into the ring too."

 

 


End file.
